Wuthering Dormice (aka Bike) Part 861 by Angharad

The return to Chateau Agnew was quieter than the out-trip, sleepy bodies drooped over the child car seats, I wondered if there was any more life in Simon’s car–if so, we hadn’t done our jobs properly and tired the little buggers out.

I parked in the drive and three little bodies shuffled into the house, had a drink and a biscuit, cleaned their respective toothy pegs and fell into bed–I didn’t even need to read them a story.

Simon brought the boys in and they were equally tired and went to bed without anything to eat–I began to wonder if they weren’t well. When I asked Simon, he just smiled and told me that the hour in the gym before we came away had drained the two boys completely. I wasn’t with him then, I was sitting with Meems on my knee, reading with her in the lounge of Henry’s private suite, while Trish and Livvie played on a computer.

“You’ll make some enquiries then, Henry?” I asked him.

“I will, I’ll let you know when I have something, but no point in doing anything until after Hogmany and New Year.”

“I thought they were the same?”

“Lots of people do, Hogmanay is New Year’s Eve, New Year is after midnight–plus parties back home, sometimes go on for a couple of days.”

“Crikey, I’m glad I live down south then, never was a big party goer."

"There’ll be a New Year’s Eve one here if you want to come, beautiful ladies are always welcome.”

“Do you never go home to Stanebury for New Year?”

“It isn’t the same when you get older, when I was Simon’s age, you wouldn’t have been able to stop me and besides, warming the place up and organising everything is too much now–sorting out your wedding rerun will be bad enough and you’re doing that with Stella.”

“We’ll wait until it’s a bit warmer anyway,” I smiled at him, I wasn’t really looking forward to it. “Part of me would love to cancel it–I just don’t do big formal things.”

“Well, Cathy, you may have married into the wrong family, it’s part of the family duty to attend big occasions and invite others back to one’s own.”

“But it’s stuff and nonsense?”

“Of course it is, but it’s how things are done.”

“Isn’t it about time they changed then?”

“No, because I can do thousands of pounds worth of business during one of those or a grouse shoot.”

“Have you asked the grouse if they would invest in your bank instead–you know put their nest eggs in it?” I was winding him up but all he did was smile.

“You don’t like huntin’, shootin’ an’ fishin’, do you?”

“Unless it’s to put things directly on the table, most emphatically, no.”

“Aren’t people entitled to enjoy themselves?”

“Killing things is fun? Henry, it’s seriously scary.”

“It’s not people they’re killing, is it?”

“Statistically, I believe Italians and Japanese are best at shooting each other at game shoots.”

“Perhaps, but your point is?”

“I find it primitive and disgusting.”

“Oh, well that’s pretty straightforward. You appreciate that grouse shooting preserves the moors for other creatures, including birds of prey.”

“Assuming gamekeepers and junior members of the Royal Family, don’t shoot them.”

“Mine don’t.”

“As far as you know.”

“Alright, as far as I know–but I make it known that it would incur my acute displeasure.”

“I’m glad you do.”

“To me, someone with a gun who doesn’t know his grouse from his red kite is dangerous and stupid, and shouldn’t be in possession of a gun.”

“I agree, but I’d go farther–I wouldn’t allow anyone to have a gun until they could justify needing one–killing things for fun wouldn’t be good enough.”

“You’d stop fishing too, although you’ve eaten loads of tuna and other fish?”

“I don’t know–except I’d put a tax on fishing as a hobby to pay for people to clean up the lead shot they used for weights and all that waste line they abandon, which kills loads of birds and small mammals.”

“What about the mass of netting lost or abandoned at sea?”

“All of it should have the name of the boat on it, so if they lose it, they can be billed if it kills seabirds or seals and so on. I’d also outlaw various types of fishing–deep trawling, where they destroy the whole seabed for miles.”

“People wouldn’t get scallops then.”

“I’m sure ways could be found to alternatively harvest them.”

“Aren’t they farmed anyway?”

“Some are, but look at the way the cod is nearly extinct and yellow fin tuna is heading the same way. Spanish, Italian and French trawlers are stripping our waters of everything, because they’ll eat anything.”

“You looked upset when Simon ordered lobster?

“I was, the poor thing was boiled alive.”

“Such is life.”

“Yes, but the most recent research tends to indicate that the lobsters feel pain when boiled. Why can’t they electrocute them first and then cook them?”

“I don’t know–maybe there is a reason, I can ask our head chef if you like?”

“No, don’t bother, it won’t stop them doing it. I just get so cross with the way we take the planet for granted and all its denizens. The Old Testament has a lot to answer for, dominion over all the beasts and the plants. Why? We’re just clever apes.”

“Ah but only some have a conscience,” quipped Henry, “You, dear girl, are our conscience–I’m glad to hear it’s alive and well and in good voice.”

“Henry, does that mean I’m a sop to conservation or do you actually take notice of what I say?”

“Personally, dear girl, I hang on every word.”

“Henry, behave–you know perfectly well what I mean.”

“The bank takes note–we pay you rather a lot of money to ignore.”

“For what I actually do, I feel overpaid.”

“It’s the going rate–except we’re the only bank who has a paid ecologist as adviser, and our dormouse advertising did do handsomely, especially after your film. You need to get off your bum and do the harvest mouse one, so we can do some more synchronised advertising. High St, the green bank–investing with us is investing in your future and that of your planet. Save with us and save the dormouse.”

“I know, I know–every time I go in there I see my face peering back at me from one of those posters.”

“Well it could be worse, darling, it could be my ugly mug, or Tom’s,” he laughed and I smiled back at him.